RPlog:Simon and Karrde
Simon Of average height and fair coloring, the young man before you has dark brown hair and eyes of a color somewhere between blue and gray. His hair is parted and cut short. His eyes are deep-set, looking more ready to draw his brow into a deep frown than a warm smile. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: intense. The man before you is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Currently, the man's hood is pulled up, concealing his face in shadows. With his back bowed slightly, either from a heavy weight or old age, it's difficult to tell the man's age. He might not even be human. Karrde Calculation has many guises, from the narrowing of eyes in sharp thought to the greed of a credits lender tallying interest rates. The guise of it in this man is difficult for the average being to define. He is tall and slender, not muscular or intimidating by mere brawn, with an economy of movement that hints at some calculation of how close his hand is to his blaster, or where he's standing in relation to his environment. Dark hair, worn a tad long and streaked a little at the temples with silver, compliments a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache to give an overall impression of care in appearance, another calculation in the visual. His voice, more often than not, is carefully modulated on the calmer ends of sardonic, wry or amused. But the eyes are the window to the soul, and this human's are of an ice blue, sometimes diamond hard, sometimes affecting disinterest, but the seat of the motives of the whole rests behind them. Intelligence sparks there, ambition burns alongside it, and awareness guides both as surely as a swordsman facing opponents in shadow and in light. He's dressed in sandy browns, typical of the area, with dusty pants and boots, a loose long sleeve shirt of a rust color, and a thin cloak with a hood over all. With his cowl once more pulled up in a fruitless effort to find shelter in anonymity, Simon Sezirok slinks his way away from the small bustle and buzz of the busying commerce area. The darkeneded shadows of a passage between two taller structures is where his feet take him, to stand and stare at the wares of a fruit stand sitting in a most unlikely place. A heavy-set, gruff fellow with stubble on his chin watches Simon beneath a stoney gaze as the Selas gives the small, misshapen fruit a wary look. Not for the first time, not for the last time, Simon wishes he had never left his beautiful home of Telgosse. In the midst of the aimless flow of multiracial visitors to the hapless asteroid moves Karrde. He's not shopping by a long shot today, though if one might call seeking a certain cowled figure shopping, well, perhaps he is. The asteroid is still fairly new, seeded by the hopeful to cling to business there, but it's an environment that is assuring to the smuggler, and he surfs it with ease. Even then, he passes right by the fruit stand, catches something out of the corner of his eye, and tries to backtrack against the flow. Casually. Right, well, as casually as a lot of dodging beings can get. Simon picks up a piece of fruit that looks to him like it might be a pear, or it might be a terribly misgrown apple. He had grown rather weary of what Mira had told him were 'ship rat-shuns'. Whether it was the plainness of the flavor of the ship food, or simply a permutation of his dislike for the technological carrying over into his diet, the Selas couldn't say. With the fruit held in front of his face for inspection, Simon pauses, lifting his head and turning his gaze back toward the way he'd come. For a moment, he thought he'd felt... "Are you going to buy that?" the gruff cart owner says sharply, pulling Simon back to the now. With a sour look on his face, Simon lets the fruit drop back into its place near the other pear-apple things, then turns to begin heading back. With a final "Excuse me", Karrde frees himself from the tide of beings and reaches the edge of the fruit stand, watching Simon. There's a hesitation there, as normally he would step forward and engage the man in conversation. If, say, it was someone he really wanted to talk to. The jury is still out on that one, but the fact of the matter remains. Karrde was looking to talk to Simon. "Try it, some fruit might be good for you," he suggests to the cowled man, making a half step forward in some odd compromise between his inhibitions and habit. If Karrde had had any sort of doubt as to whether or not someone tied to the Force could be surprised or not, the look on Simon's face should have settled it for him. Having turned partially in the smuggler chief's direction, Simon twitches in a half jump severely enough to toss his hood back from his face a little. Recovering, Simon reaches up with his left to replace the hood as he chastises himself internally for not listening to his feelings in the first place. "I am not certain these are really fruit," Simon responds, earning a harrumph from the cart owner. Simon gives the fellow a cool stare before turning back to Karrde and continuing, his accented voice slightly lower, "What are you doing here? Surely not shopping for... this." He gives a half-hearted gesture toward the cart. Karrde's mouth quirks in a hint of a smile. It may be amusing at the reaction, or the shopping comment, but the smuggler feels no need to draw attention to Simon's surprise. "I was shopping," he answers, his amusement plain in his voice. "Mostly essentials, some to see if you'd actually left." Pausing, the goateed man squints a moment over the fruit display, presided over by the disgruntled. "Maybe pursue another conversation?" he tries, mildly. "I feel the trouble must be made to be worth something." There is no elaboration yet on 'trouble' or what worth he's expecting from Simon. "The ship captain Orson had said something about a delay," Simon says, as if to justify his own lingering presence on the asteroid colony. He gives the cart and its owner another quick look before turning his eyes back toward the rest of the alley as he considers Karrde's words. His understanding of what this civilization called 'Basic' had become good enough that he could pick up on meanings quickly, and even use some of the more complex phrases on his own. Nevertheless, this seemed important enough that he should give himself time enough to understand all that the smuggler chief was saying. His failure to understand seemed to have been the key toward their last meeting going sour, after all. Turning partially away from Karrde in the direction of the deeper recesses of the alley, Simon says finally, "Another chance to talk with you might be useful. I think that it is twice now that we have begun the wrong way of things." "It happens," Karrde admits, permitting a glance in the direction the other seems to be keeping an eye on. Reflex, more than concern. The man is, afterall, highly wanted, and has likely developed an admirable sense of paranoia. Following his lead would be prudent. "Suspicion, doubt, protection, all of these came into play. But yes, I would like to talk again and see what is misunderstanding and what is simply a bad fit." Karrde isn't discounting that he just doens't get along with Simon; there's been times in the past that it's happened, some resolved, some not. Never hurts to try. "You have a better place to talk in mind?" he adds, deferring to the other's paranoia. Given that hunters didn't appear to be poised at the end of the alley behind Karrde with their restraints ready to slap onto Simon's wrists, it was becoming easier to trust the smuggler a little. He answers with a slight shrug, saying, "This is your home, Talon Karrde. If a quiet corner out of the way is good enough for you, then it is good enough for me. There is little I can say in front of people that would bring more trouble on my head. A bucket can hold only so much water." The answering smile is a little tight, but Karrde nods, turning a little to walk further into the alley and away from the crowds. It's an unpopular alley, linking nowhere special to nowhere special, and seems to be for the purpose of ventilation for the most part. A tad noisy, but that was fine for things. If Simon felt comfortable enough to follow, that was. Otherwise, Talon was going ot get windblown. Unnecessarily brushing dust from the front of his robes, Simon gives one last look to the fruitstand owner before following Karrde. The fellow didn't actually look or feel like danger to Simon, but there was never such a thing as being too wary when wandering through the jungle. Some predators hunted by making themselves look harmless. After a few steps, Simon decides to speak, by way of settling what he feared might be one of their misunderstandings. "I am not here because of Cort Stasus," he says. "I left his side to bring Jessalyn Valios from her prison within the Sith puzzle box. All else has been destiny." It's Karrde's turn to be surprised, and he blinks at the other. The idea that Simon would catch the peril and then offer some solution didn't occur to him. "It might work," he says thoughtfully, after a moment's thought. "Morganna was the one who tipped him off, and she's tried to work that angle before. You as a path to Cort, that is." He rubs the back of his neck, mind bouncing from one possible consequence to another. "It's buying time, at least, but it would need an out sooner or later." His memories flit back to the last time he needed a convincing out, except it had been Luke Skywalker and COMPNOR, and Mara had shot him to make it extra realistic. "But it would solve that problem, yes. It's hard to work when I keep getting summoned like this." His irritation at being called by the Empire is clear, and a much greater source of anger than he brought into the alley. It was all coming down to a matter of faith. Not trust... that part had already been brought into play by both goateed men in this conversation. It was a matter of faith. Simon knew some part of his destiny through communion with the True Source, and believed that some part of his future lay on the other side of the destruction of the Death Star. How far could his faith take him? "If you run out of time, then you will have to turn me in," Simon says stoicly. "I do not think that the Empire wishes me to simply die. Even if that is their wish, one death to preserve the True Source of life from the Death Star is a life well spent." When it came to matters of faith, Simon was a zealot. Karrde rocks back on his heels, the ventilation whistling past his ears. "Turning you in isn't an option," he says simply, with the sort of unshakable sureness Simon's displaying as well. Where each of them get their values would make a psychatrist drool. "But I think we're both clear on the risks. My apologies, I was suspicious, dozens of my allies have tried to kill me with their good will lately, and I didn't want to see what a quasi-foe who didn't trust me could do to my task next." Humor again, and relieved humor at that. Some bridge was crossed, and it was time to get to business. "The current problem is locating the thing," he informs the other. "I have my people working on it, but we're not finding much. I'm having to step up operations. Can you help?" A soft sigh escapes Simon's lips, accompanied by a slight shake of his head. He says, "I might be able to help, but not likely in the way you are asking. There are those that are tied to the True Source... the Jedi, for example... that commit the greatest sin by using the True Source to touch the minds and souls of other people. This is a blasphemy that I will not do, and I do not know how much of that will be needed to find the Death Star." He pauses for a moment, then continues, "If there is a person that you need held that can give you information, I can do this. I captured a great Imperial chieftan not too long ago and had to give him to Bazil McKenzie so that I could be allowed to roam freely. I could do this again, and make sure that it is your hands that hold the leash." Again, another pause before continuing. His grasp of basic is good, but there are times he still needs to think out his words before speaking them. "Jessalyn Valios might be able to do better as far as finding the Death Star. I do not know for certain. I do not know where her gifts lie, and I do not know what she will be willing to do. She is fiercely strong willed." The slight smile that spreads across Simon's lip as he says this more than suggests his approval for the woman's qualities. It's something, but yet... Karrde feels some disappointment. Holding people down and forcing information out of them was a last ditch plan for him, and he was hoping not to get that far without finding something. Again, his network was looking like his best bet at this stage. At least at this stage. Next, well, that was a whole other story. "That would be helpful if we run into recalitrant beings, thank you," he replies, truthfully. "I will try to talk to Miss Valios then, and see what she thinks. She did not make the best of impressions on the first run, but I am sure her self-centered nature stems from the best intentions." The smuggler says that with a straight face, but it was a source of friction last meeting. "Do you need anything from me, given what you know now? I'm still in the process of seeking." "Well, I am curious," Simon begins. He rubs the growth of hair at his chin thoughtfully a moment, then says, "Drawing the Horang Fangbeast is dangerous if you do not know what spear you will strike it down with, or what tree to climb if the spears fail. Once you have found the Death Star, what do you plan to do next? Leave over to the New Republic and hope that they do not sell you out?" The posture and look say it more than anything, and only for an instant. Karrde draws back minutely and narrows his eyes; he hadn't really thought about the next step because, well, he assumed he was in to the end. And he didn't actually trust the NR not to mess it up. But then it was none of his business, he was just finding it. But then he agreed to do this free of charge. But then... "Yes, the next step is their's to make," he answers quietly, grimacing inwardly at Drew, who over ale accused him of being a crusader. Simon is unable to deny the feeling of tension he feels through Karrde for that moment of doubt. Again, if he were a different sort of Force user, he could possibly look into Karrde's mind and see the source for himself. In this case, though, it is probably unnecessary. He says, "There is a device on ship captain Orson's ship that reminds me of a game we played on Telgosse with stones and a checkered board. Moving stones around, you would sacrifice pieces sometimes in order to try to gain advantage. I am learning that in life, sometimes we are the stones... sometimes we are the players. You are moving to make sure I am not sacrificed. I will do the same for you." Players and pieces, galactic game. Karrde understood what he meant, but the comparison brought back memories again, of being one of the stones. And why he spent a long time trying to shake it. And how he was feeling it creep up on him again. The smuggler chief frowns at nothing, his focus slipped to long-froneded moss waving in the breeze behind Simon. Stones or players. "You have a distinct goal with this, Simon," he finally says, shifting his gaze back to the other man. "You're a player to win. I just shift stones about." His smile is tainted with bitterness, before the expression is replaced with deadpan. "We're clear. I'll handle the Empire's inquiries, and we need to keep in contact. Things are fluid right now." Karrde's response raises a few other questions in Simon's mind, with accompanying remarks. If you're not playing the game to win, why are you playing? Why would you think I am a player at this point when I am very clearly one of the pieces, waiting to be sacrificed? Other thoughts as well, all of which are dismissed and shelved away for another time. This meeting and sharing was coming to a close, as well it should. "If we are to stay in contact, we will need a way to speak," Simon says, settling on the most prudent of his questions. "Perhaps your problem with the Empire's inquiries and our problem with staying in contact can be solved in the same fashion. You could keep one of your people attached to me." "I can't spare anyone like that," Karrde replies. Yes, back to normal, and if he was aware of those questions, the man would probably dodge answering. Not easy questions, those. He'll keep dodging them though, in his own mind. "If you would like to play semantics and attach yourself to my organization, insomuch as travel, you're welcome to. Be aware that at any hint of trouble, we'll have to get you all away, but I'm sure you can understand how it is." Yes, the usual ready-to-pack-up-and-run existance his organization knew in varying degrees. "I had said the attachment words in the thought that you would be telling the Empire that you were trying to get to Cort," Simon explains carefully. It would be a poor thing if semantics and his own mishandling of Basic damaged the work they had done. It was not unlike building a hut with twigs and not mud. A harsh wind might knock it all down. "I understand the dangers, though. You can be sure that I and Jessalyn Valios can move with swiftness. And Mira as well." The addition of his old student was necessary, but not without souring his thoughts and bringing a frown to Simon's face. Karrde nods in understanding. "We'll work that out," he assures with a faint smile. "They can be told a convincing story, and find it difficult to confirm. The speed might be necessary if they get lucky, is all." He glances back in the direction of the fruit stand. "There is an office here of mine that is secure, and I'll make that available to you and your's. This place is a good spot, though nowhere is entirely secure. Better?" he asks, glancing back with a wry tone that can't decide if it wants to be humorous or serious. It comes of pushing aside the unsettling in favor of the immediate need for assertiveness. Ah. A meeting place, rather than a calling out. It was a better way of dealing with the problem of staying in contact in other respects as well. "Yes, that would do well. Once the ship I left on Corellia is picked up, perhaps Jessalyn Valios will be able to fly it here so that we can talk again." It would have to be Jessalyn Valios, of course. Unless, of course, there was an Imperial embassy here that Karrde wanted he and Mira to crash into. "I am glad that you sought me out to speak to me, Talon Karrde." "I'm glad I did, too," Karrde responds, his expression brightening a bit nto the normal perpetually amused wry he usually wears. Even with all of Simon's ways of apparently dredging up old issues without meaning to, it was good to correct a problem and gain an ally. "Just let Orson know if he's needed, I'm dispatching him on an errand briefly, but he should be back soon." He pauses, before remarking, "I better go, least the nosy wonder why the new guy on the asteroid is hanging out in dark alleys with suspicious-looking characters." The Selas nods with each of Karrde's points, filing away one in particular tidbit for later. While Simon could be considered the 'new guy on the asteroid', Karrde certainly meant himself, leaving Simon to be the 'suspicious-looking' character. It meant that Karrde hadn't settled his roots here. With his nomadic lifestyle, he would have fit in well on Telgosse. "I will wait here for a while when you leave," Simon says at last. "It would be better if we left this place separately." Karrde nods at this easily, thinking the same, and, shoving both hands in his pockets casually, he quirks a silent grin at Simon before turning and heading back out to the swarm. He could make a habit of christening every new hiding hole with a crisis, he reflects. Better than wasting a good ale, anyway. Simon and Karrde